Just Humming Along

Mom is directly below me on the main floor, right now. She is sitting at the kitchen table and humming. Mom's got some things going on with the language portion of her brain; it forms the thoughts, but not the words to express them. Music and music lyrics, however, flow out of her like she was twenty again, and sitting by the radio listening to The Frank Sinatra Show. Mom used to prepare Thanksgiving dinner every year. She hummed as she cut the bread crumbs for stuffing, or whisked the gravy. After dinner, she hummed as she washed dishes. Maybe it was all that humming, but no one's Thanksgiving dinner tasted quite as good as Mom's. When I hear her today, it takes me back to that.

Last year, she and I took the seven hour ride to my daughter's home. Just as we hopped onto the interstate, I tuned to a big band station on the radio. She cruised along, tapping and singing like she'd heard those songs yesterday. She was content. So content, in fact, we had driven some five or six hours before she ever asked where we were headed. And she composes her own melodies as well. One day I asked, "What song is that. Mom?" She replied, "Oh, I don't know. Just something I sing." Her humming used to be a way she covered up the noise of sneaking cookies or ice cream; these days it seems to be a way she comforts herself.

So, today I'm thinking about the things that make us feel secure -- those things that make us feel all is well, or soothe us. And what happens when we can't get to those things, or do those things. The nervousness that builds when a smoker holds a cigarette but no way to light it. The "feeling out of sorts" that happens when we haven't had our morning bowl of coffee. The panic when a ball player breaks his favorite bat, or a mechanic misplaces his "best" shop rag. Those things that we allow to become part of our routine that, when unavailable to us, can throw us completely off course.

The irony is, taking care of Mom was not what I had planned; it does not always make me feel comfortable. I had this amazing life with my husband. We had the run of the whole house -- most days. I could fly to church whenever I pleased, and help with various ministries. I could take the dogs on long walks and stop to talk to folks. I could write until my fingers bled. Those things brought me comfort and lifted my spirits. Now, each day, most of the day, I am a constant source of comfort and security for someone else. (And, trust me when I say, as an introvert, someone who values her "alone time" and loves silence, it is not easy.) Additionally, I am faced with -- for lack of a better word -- a decaying situation everyday. Mom does not improve; Mom will not improve. That is a hard pill to swallow. To feel as though God's plan has you stuck in Neutral, not checking off any boxes, not accomplishing anything -- that, by nature, makes me very uncomfortable.

But I am no longer imprisoned by those natural feelings. Jesus died and was resurrected that I might also be dead to sin and ungodliness, and alive with Christ. I have a new life -- a life that was birthed by the same power that overcame the grave, a life that is marked by complete access to the throne of  God and all that He can do. He wants me to be holy as He is holy, to be selfless as Christ was selfless, to show love as He shows love, and to know He is my comfort and my strength. And He is teaching me this daily. He is altering that part of my character that comes unglued when moments of solitude are few and far between. He is speaking to me -- even from other parts of the world -- and reminding me the life He has called me to live is a life surrendered. It is not based on my design or lived by following my agenda; its success is not measured by fanfare or red lines struck through daily undertakings. He wants me to follow the God of All Comfort, that I may be of comfort to others. And He walks me through it every step of the way.

What a God! He makes my soul sing! Or maybe I'll just hum along.